Down, Not Out
by KkGgINoU
Summary: The Lorali Incident didn't happen quite as it was told, but there will still be consequences. They come when Sam discovers that he won't be working with Noah, and that Noah won't be working with anyone at all. At least not as a Deputy Marshal.
1. Prologue

Okay. This is my tenth story. Ten. Can you believe it? I've been around the block!

For all readers who aren't accustomed to this particular fandom, but came here 'cause you like me, (I.e. All of my Treklockians from the Shire), thank you so much, for one, but Keep calm and read on. I'm still the cray-cray Kk, and you all know my writing style from Letters (at least, I hope you do.)

For those who don't know me, and only came here because you really, really, REALLY like The Fugitive and US Marshals, Sit tight, and please be merciful! This is my first fan fiction into this fandom, and my knowledge on the movies is... Well, it probably could be better, but I think it's OK for this particular fanfic.

T. But, honestly, if you are reading this, I would normally expect you to be over 13. (I.e. PG 13 rating. I can't see a seven-year old watching US Marshals. Just saying...)

LOTS OF !SPOILERS!

And if anyone asks, yes, this is yet another "Noah survives" fic. Cut me some slack. I really liked that kid.

Okay, I've talked enough. Here we go.

* * *

 _Darkness. Darkness and silence. Noah looked up into the inky blackness that seemed to surround him, blanketing him in a strange but potentially welcoming cradle. The soft shadow seemed almost surreal. Something out of a story book. Something like Snow White's poisoned apple, maybe. He felt as though he could almost reach out and touch it._

 _Noah reached out to a cold, misty smoke that seemed to envelop his fingers. Perhaps it wasn't so deep and vast as it looked. It seemed to swirl around him, and only him. Maybe it was something that could be escaped. But he didn't want to escape it. Not yet. But maybe later._

 _Darkness and silence... And pain. There was definitely pain here. The crisp folding shadows seemed to be trying to mask the fire that began in his abdomen and spread throughout his chest and to his arms and legs. Noah winced. He definitely wasn't leaving. Not yet. Maybe later, though._

 _Noah looked around him into the convulsing shadow. He felt like he was falling. Some great distance, as well. Sure, he would still have dreams that he was falling, but never so... Real as this._

 _Suddenly, his back gently touched a surface that reached out to him through the darkness, the frame of a door, to be exact. With an excruciating jolt of pain he remembered where he really was. Honestly, he didn't want to remember. And not later. Not ever. Especially not when a traitorous murderer awaited him. He really didn't want to leave the darkness. Really. Not for Lorali. Not for the team. Not for... Well, maybe for Sam. Not for the rest of the whole world (who could be a real jerk sometimes, too). But then, of course, he really didn't have a choice, did he? Another spearing bolt of fire in his chest woke him fully to his state. His sorry, bloodied state sliding down the doorframe of an old man's apartment, a crimson trail in his wake. Noah involuntarily tipped his head back and his jaw dropped in a silent wail just before the shadows around his vision dissipated. Nope. He really didn't have a choice at all._

 _ **Meanwhile...**_

Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard looked up in the direction of the gunshot he heard. A gunshot meant one of two things. A., Royce or Newman had found the rouge agent Sheridan and were in a fight; or B., Sheridan had found them first. _And please... not the second!_

The shots continued while Gerard chased the sound. He could only assume that Sheridan was fleeing the scene. His mind began to reel. If Royce shot the gun first, then Sheridan would be dead. If Newman shot the gun, then Sheridan would probably still be running, no offense to Newman or his aim. If Sheridan shot the gun... Well, someone was definitely going to be dead. Because people like Sheridan and Royce didn't miss. No matter what Catherine had said. _Please,_ he thought _let it be Royce who shot!_

Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard opened the door to the apartment with the gunfire only to find exactly what he did not want to see. He was at Newman's side so quickly, he was sure he could hear a sonic boom.

Noah's head tilted slightly upwards at him, and the boy's empty eyes shifted towards him with a glazed, pleading stare. _Too late, Sam_ they seemed to announce grimly. _Too late._

* * *

Sad little prologue to start things off.

What do you think? Any good? And don't worry, if this didn't cut it as T, the next chapter certainly will.

Ok. I admit it. I lied. But most of the things that I was going to adress earlier got bumped back because the computer sort of... Died suddenly. With all of my documents still on it. Isn't it wonderful? Thus, I figured I still had one little chapter's worth of creativity left over for June to make (maybe) a decent opening for a US Marshals fiction.

This is something American. And I am far more familiar with USA than UK, so... Only grammar errors to excuse for this fiction!

All rights to respective owners.

#NoahNewmanLives!


	2. Man Down

Hey.

What do we have here? Two chapters in a single night? I'm impressed. And I'm the writer.

If you didn't already get the memo, this fic is primarily US Marshals. There will be a decent tip of the hat to Kimble, but count on mostly just the team, a couple OCs, and a few flashbacks and nods to Ridge (err, that is, RDJ).

He did a Peter Pan right off of this dam right here!- T. Mostly violence towards "puppies". (I.e., Royce shot my favorite puppy.)

I didn't kill my wife!- Not according to storyline. (Obviously... I really don't think that I need to say that anymore.)

Kids, stay awake- I do not slash, but, like quite a few of Fugitive/US Marshals fans, Sam and Noah for best Father/Son combo in the fandom would have my vote. So it kinda shows. Beware.

* * *

Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard opened the door to the apartment with the gunfire only to find exactly what he did not want to see. Newman had turned the whole wall a deep, foreboding scarlet. Sam winced. The thick, warm liquid was spreading steadily across Noah's white T-shirt. Gerard was at the boy's side so quickly, he was sure he could hear a sonic boom.

Noah's head tilted slightly upwards at him, and the boy's empty eyes shifted towards him with a glazed, pleading stare. _Too late, Sam,_ they seemed to say grimly. _Too late._ Sam gritted his teeth. _No,_ Sam put a sharp retort in his own face _I'm not going to lose you. Not now._

Sam looked at Noah. Somehow, it always seemed that he could read the kid's mind. Not really, of course. They weren't really telepathic. But sometimes you got so close to someone, you almost **could** read their minds. Noah Newman was pretty much an open book to any stranger who tried hard enough. And Sam learned to read him very quickly. Quite frankly, it was a blessing and a curse.

Noah's face became almost unbearable. Sam suddenly couldn't define Noah from his own guilt. _Why are you late? I needed you. Why didn't you come?_ Sam vaguely remembered calling the policemen on the radio. He barely heard Royce's explanation of the incident. His attention was fixated upon the broken body in front of him. "Don't move, kid... Don't talk, don't move, don't talk."

Newman's expression quickly changed from shock to pure terror. Sam made the mistake of trying to read him again. _Sam,_ Noah seemed to silently cry, _please help me! It hurts so bad! Sam, please help! I'm scared... Dad, I'm scared._ It drove all of his sanity away. He fumbled for his radio to call for help for the second time in thirty seconds. "This is Gerard, I need an ambulance-" It was a good thing that the police chose that moment to appear, because Sam knew if he didn't leave, he was going to lose it- right on the radio.

Gerard pushed himself back into command mode. "Get your EMT people up here, stat!" He grabbed a piece of cloth- he really didn't know what it was, and he was quite beyond caring- and packed it onto the wounds. "Hold this on this kid," he told Royce. And if he thought Noah couldn't look more terrified, well, he was wrong. At the mention of Royce tending to him, Noah seemed to go ballistic. Sam Gerard read Noah one last time, and left out the window. He would never forget what he saw on that boy's face. _No! Sam, please don't! Don't leave me! Please don't leave me! Dad... Please don't._

Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard felt his eyes become moist on the way up the fire escape.

 _ **From a different point of view...**_

 _Noah stared blankly up at the ceiling. Where was Sam? He needed to get here._

 _Noah felt a hot, sticky liquid soaking the center of his T-shirt._ Aww, man, _he tried to make light of the situation,_ I really liked this shirt. _With another bolt of pain came the realization that his shoulder had been hit as well_. _He winced. Who was he kidding? This was the end-of- line. The final chapter. The last sentence._

 _He started feeling tired._ Too much blood loss _his body seemed to pout. His vision wasn't much better. And hearing? Noah laughed inwardly at the thought. He had been nearing deafness in his right ear for a long time- coming up on a year. It didn't do much for his job, but nobody knew yet, and that was a plus._

 _Noah began to think._ _He wouldn't have walked in on Royce if he had known. Or would he have? Probably so. He would have tried to stop Royce anyways. And he would still probably be in the same position. Because Royce really wasn't the type to miss a target. But Gerard probably would be a bit closer. He heard a door._

 _Speaking of Gerard..._

 _Noah looked slightly to his left to find Sam coming into his field of vision. He looked up at Gerard._ What took you so long, buddy? I've been bleeding here a long time _. Sam seemed quite preoccupied._

 _"Sheridan got a shot off. Newman, he just walked into it. Just walked right into it-"_

 _Noah stopped listening and rolled his eyes... To the best of his ability, for the latter._ Yeah, right. _He hadn't walked into a fight. He'd walked into an execution_ _._ _And Royce had shot him. He tried to tell Sam. No sound came out of his mouth._

 _"Don't move, kid. Don't talk, don't move, don't talk."_

 _Another searing pain shot though his chest. He couldn't help but disobey Sam's order._ Sam, it really hurts. Please help... Dad. I don't wanna die. _Noah snapped back into reality. Why did he call Sam 'Dad'? He didn't have a dad. Not since he was six._

 _"Hold this on this kid." Royce took the cloth that Sam had been using to apply pressure._

 _Sam looked at him one last time, and Noah sent one last plea through._ Don't leave, Sam! It was Royce all along! Don't leave! I've seen too much! He's going to kill me! Please don't leave... _Sam left out the window after Sheridan._

 _Newman's thoughts drifted to a dark corner of unconsciousness as he stared up at Royce who was slowly easing off the pressure so as not to alarm the policemen. Yep. Definitely going to die._

* * *

Yeah, I know. It's pretty bad for a T. I'm really not sure what to call it. I mean, US Marshals is only rated... What? PG 13? And this wasn't much worse. I don't think. Anyways.

Did you think that the first chapter was OK?

Please review. And all Fugitive/US Marshals fans... Please be merciful in the review section.

Please excuse the grammatical errors.

All character rights to Andrew Davis and Stuart Baird.


	3. On Newman, And Other Musings

Howdy!

Well, what'll it be Michael? Regular or **Extra** Crispy? - T. I don't think I have to reiterate that anymore.

He bit one of my kids, he got hit on the head, so what?- Sam and Noah for best father/son. It should be real.

* * *

Sam Gerard walked up to his room. The day had gone by quickly, and the five... No... six beers that he'd drank earlier that day weren't the best ideas in the whole world, in retrospect.

He laid down on his bed, not bothering to take his shoes off. It felt good to lay down safe. Not in a grain hopper with a gun pointed at his head. Yes, it was nice to lay down in his own, safe bed and forget about tomorrow. Admittedly, Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard loved Friday free-days.

Gerard looked up at the fan that hung... Somewhat precariously from the ceiling. It needed some tender loving care and a screwdriver. Mostly a screwdriver. Sam didn't know why he kept coming back to this place. He spent more time at the office. But he guessed that it was nice to have a place to call home. If this rickety old shack of a house could be called home.

Sam sat up on the bed. He remembered when he had first moved into this house. He was a brand-spanking-new Deputy Marshal of only twenty five with a wife (Catherine Walsh, no less) and overly high hopes to start a family. But then things changed. The miscarriage. Twice. The discovery that they would never be able to have children of their own. The death of his parents and hers. The separation... more of a divorce, really- Sam hadn't wanted to finish things outright, that is, permanently... but Catherine changed her name back, so what could he say? And all of it within five years. By the time Sam became team leader at thirty-four, no one even knew about his past.

Sam stood up and walked to the sink in the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face. He liked that no one knew. Curious people led to sappy relationships (was 'relationship' even a word for him anymore?), and being a Deputy Marshal meant that Sam had absolutely no time for things like that. Sam had promised himself after the separation that he would never care about anyone ever again.

A tear tried to squeeze out of his eye. He stopped it before it could escape. Now that Sam had tried to care about his team, his world was threatening to turn itself upside down again.

He walked down to get himself a glass of warm milk. It was almost 2 a.m., probably past time he ought to go to bed. He planted his foot on an exceptionally squeaky stair- the fifth one from the bottom. Sam never understood why he hadn't sold this place in favor of a nice apartment. He pulled out the half- gallon jug and a glass. Maybe it was the memories. The good and the bad, but still memories. But then, why couldn't his memories have been better? All of his memories in this house seemed to be... Disheartening. And another sour memory was added to the bunch today.

The microwave chirped what should have been an illegally cheerful note to tell him the milk was finished. He pulled out the warmed milk. Milk.

Sam stared at the milk for a long time. He hated himself right now. Newman and... The contents of his glass at this very moment. Noah always said that he had a distaste for alcohol. That was the source of all of the jests and the teasing. On occasion- on very select occasion- Noah might have a beer to celebrate, but he liked a nice coke much better for less formal.

To Sam's understanding, harder drinks were out of the question. And everybody knew, especially after that first dreadful Christmas party at Biggs' place, no one living or dead could ever get Noah drunk. Ever. Sam had laughed when Noah drank Biggs under the table for two hundred dollars offered by Cosmo, and lived to tell the tale. The kid had a surprisingly high alcohol tolerance- especially for a non-drinker. But Noah didn't want to test the limit. Cosmo made a few cracks at it, saying that if Noah ever did get into alcohol, he could probably out-drink everyone in the building, and still be sober afterwards.

Sam knew the real reason behind Noah's preference. Noah confided in him- a great honor by _anyone's_ standard- once after a party, when Noah was driving both of them home. Sam remembered Noah telling him. He didn't recall much (that was a long time ago, after all) , but he remembered Noah saying that he didn't really like alcohol, and never wanted to be drunk because of what happened to his father.

Sam had never pressed Noah for more. One thing was for sure, though- an alcoholic father, and Noah had landed himself in a foster home? The kid had a speckled past.

 _Cosmo Renfro. Bobby Biggs. Savannah Cooper._ The names of the team circled around in his Mind's Eye in the present. He really did care about them. And maybe that was his mistake. _Don't forget Noah Newman. D_ _on't forget him._ Sam sighed. He guessed that it was time to say goodbye to Noah. It would have to get done one of these days.

Who was he kidding? Noah had been gone for a whole four days. It was way past time to say goodbye. Even the higher-ups agreed.

Noah's replacement was coming in less than a week. Some hot-off-the-press rookie named Ezra McCouliff who was lucky enough to land in Sam's team. Sam remembered reading the file earlier that morning before the press deal with Sheridan. The kid had impressive credentials for being so inexperienced. He was an expert tracker, a by-the-book officer with just a touch of maverick towards superiors, and (according to the file) seemed to enjoy scaling (or attempting to scale) any and every vertical surface that he came into contact with.

Sam remembered hurling the file, picture and all, against the far wall. He didn't want to read who would supposedly replace Noah. Because no one would ever replace that boy in their hearts. No matter how hard this new kid Ezra tried, he just would never fill Noah's shoes. Ever.

Sam blinked to clear his head. So it was official, Sam decided. He would call... the hospital's morgue tomorrow, and try to start letting things go back to somewhat normal. Normal. Ha.

He reached into his pocket. He had swiped the picture of Ezra off of the file earlier that morning. The new kid looked almost a polar opposite of Noah. Noah's eyes were very wide, almost round, while this new boy Ezra had eyes that seemed very angular. Noah had somewhat of a rounded, thin face that came down to a point. Ezra had a broad, cleft chin and a stockier face. While Noah had brown curls, Ezra had very light hair, almost a beige. And contrary to Noah's signature ponytail, Ezra's thick, shaggy hair was cut down to ear length. Sam stuffed the photo back in his pocket. He didn't want to think about how different Noah and Ezra were. He didn't want to think about how experienced or inexperienced this new Deputy Marshal was. Neither appearance nor skill would be able to replace Noah for anyone on the team. Ever.

Sam took a sip of his warmed milk, which was only slightly warm by now. He shook his head.

The next sound Sam heard was the glass shattering against the side of the sink. He cursed when he slammed his hand down on the counter and received a sharp piece of glass to the hand. A tear slid down his cheek. Deputy Marshal Sam Gerard hated milk.

* * *

Hi.

So, I have this story and another chapter story, and I'm struggling to maintain both at a readable status without running myself ragged. I will probably alternate with publishing, so if you don't see a chapter on this one for awhile, assume that I'm working on my other project, and will try to get back here ASACWA (as soon as creativity will allow)

So... If you're wondering who to think of when dealing with Ezra, think about... Hmmm. Well, the closest I could get would probably be a run for my money on Aaron Eckhart. So maybe that would help. But taller and thinner. Much taller.

Don't worry, things will only get worse from here. *grins*

Please excuse grammatical and... Time Period errors.

All rights go to respective owners.


	4. You did WHAT?

Hey.

I know that it's been way, way too long since I last updated. It's just that I've had to go back over and over the story to make sure that it's OK. Every story must be crafted with excellence. I want to make reading an enjoyable experience. So. Here we are (finally).

"I got your man! I got your man and I'm gonna blow his brains out!" "Okay, let's just relax, stay calm- Sam! Help!"- I do support Sam and Noah for best father/son in the whole series. Beware.

"Hey- why are you yelling at me? Why don't you yell at somebody else sometimes?" "BIGGS!" "Atta boy, Sam!"- Cosmo gets the funniest lines in back-and-forth with Sam. just saying.

* * *

"He's what? How do you-" Sam hollered into the phone a few choice words.

"What is it, Sam?" Savannah turned from her paperwork.

"They lost Noah." He held his hand up to stop the chatter. "Mhmm. Mhmm. Hm."

"Well?" Biggs looked expectantly up at Sam. Cosmo slapped Biggs in the shoulder.

"Shh! He's trying to listen!"

"Well, kids. Pack up. We're going back to New York." A chorus of complaints rose up from the table.

"Come on, Sammy! I just finished unpacking!"

"Well, then un-unpack, Cosmo. We're leaving ASAP."

 ** _Some time later..._**

"How do you lose somebody? Tell me. How?"

"Calm down, Sam. They're trying." Cosmo turned back to the receptionist. "Anyways, how do you lose somebody?"

Sam began pacing around the room. "Come on- this is a hospital! If this is the level of efficiency that all hospitals have-"

"Sam, I got something over here." Savannah motioned him over.

"Look here." Biggs pointed to the clipboard roster that Savannah most likely snatched from a nurse. "There are thirty five 'John Doe' listings on this roster. Something could have gone wrong and they switched up the listing tags. Noah could be one of these."

"Give me that-" Sam grabbed the clipboard away from Savannah. "Searching all of these will take a lot of time. Where is this for?"

"Well, the whole hospital. But look-" Savannah pointed to a few of them. "Only ten are in the mortuary... We might start there."

"What do you mean 'start'? Noah can't be anywhere else."

Biggs stood on tiptoe and peered at the roster over Sam's shoulder. "Well, eight of the John Doe guys are critical condition. If IDs did get mixed up, Noah might be one of them, too."

Sam gave Biggs his best 'Hinky? Really?' face. He walked over to reception and grabbed Cosmo by the shirt collar. "Come on, Cosmo." He hauled the man away from the desk.

"Wha-ackpth! Choking, choking- SAM!" Cosmo shook his collar out of Sam's hand.

All four of them started walking down the hall. "Listen, Biggs, I know what that kid meant to you, but honestly." They turned a corner. "Noah was pronounced dead upon arrival here. That isn't going to change."

Cosmo piped up. "I don't know, Sammy. There are such things as miracles."

They made their way to the morgue. There was only one worker there at the time.

"Hey, you." The man looked up from his task.

"There's a... Friend of ours here. A John Doe. But we don't know exactly where. Do you think you could check?" Sam stared the fellow down.

The man looked at them in bewilderment. He held their stare for a few seconds. "That is the strangest thing anyone has asked me to do ever." He put down his clipboard, and grabbed another one. "But let's see if we can find your friend. People around here usually don't up and walk away." He chuckled for a second. He coughed. "Well, now. Do we know the cause of death?"

"Shock, blood loss- he was shot, if that helps."

"Hmm... Well, we don't have anyone here like that. Most of these poor people were natural causes. No gunshot wounds that I know of... And he is here, right?"

"We already checked twice. Yes. He came here and was pronounced dead. Two gunshot wounds. That's it for identification."

"As a matter of fact..." The man put his clipboard down. "I heard of a patient who had something like that... Errr... But he's still alive that I know of."

"Did you know his name?"

"Nope. But they did say it was one of those weird 'miracle stories'. He was sent down to the morgue, but they discovered that he was still alive. He wasn't before... But then, I just heard about it. Wasn't here to see it." He picked his clipboard up again.

Cosmo tapped Sam on the shoulder. "If anyone would pull something like that on the staff, it's Noah. He could still be alive."

Sam nodded in agreement, but turned to the worker. "How do you know all of this, anyhow?"

"We morgue workers talk a lot between shifts. Some of it's just tales. But we do get some good stories."

"Hm. Well, could you tell me where I could get more info on this 'miracle story'?"

"I'd try some of the nurses. They gossip a lot."

The team started to go. The man called to them as they left. "And don't talk to reception! Those jokers don't know anything about anything!"

Cosmo shook his head. "Okay. Don't talk to reception. Well that's obvious. Don't talk to the people who are supposed to know stuff if you want to know stuff."

Savannah punched him in the arm. "Oh, shut up, Cosmo."

* * *

So, I updated the last chapter. It didn't really make any sense when paired with this one, so I changed it a bit.

I'm actually not sure how this could happen. Practically, I mean.

I enjoy writing for Cosmo. His back and forth with the other characters is hilarious to script up. :)

Please review.

Please excuse errors.

All rights to respective owners.


	5. Arise

Hi. Really quick. I love this story.

BUT. I now have beta jobs. And that puts a dampener on things. So...

Awkward.

"Your turn to babysit Newman." Sam and Noah for father/son. Yes. It should be real.

* * *

 _It was just... Dark. There wasn't anything else. No light. No sound. No feeling. Nothing at all. The silence was... Choking._

 _But, unlike the first time he had been thrown into the realm of unconsciousness, this wasn't comforting to Noah. The previous time, it had been a gentle, folding mist that made him feel as though he were walking through the cool dew-laden grass. But this darkness was growing hostile. It was becoming unfriendly, almost ravenous. He felt like it was trying to eat him._

 _Noah missed the outside world. Unconsciousness was nice for awhile, but it seemed like for every second he was there, the darkness seemed to want to keep him. Permanently. The outside world, however dangerous, was simply his home. He wanted to be home._

 _He had to admit. Getting shot at could be fun. Now, getting shot wasn't fun. But even the cramps in your neck after being held hostage had value. You earned them. And as long as you lived to tell the tale, they were well earned._

 _And that was what he lived for. The thrill of the chase. The rush of adrenalin that came with each arrest was better than anything else in the world, in his opinion. Any fear that you had was replaced with exuberance afterwards when you overcame and survived. The excitement and the anticipation followed by the Rush and the sense of fluidity between you and your team. You knew what they would do. You had their backs. And likewise._

 _It was the greatest sense of family that Noah ever had. Maybe that was why Noah loved going out on the field and making arrests. He felt like he had family. He was part of a team. He was needed._

 _A bright light interrupted his thoughts._

 _Per say, it may not have been_ bright _. It was only a speck, after all. But he did earn at least a little grace from a critic. He had been in the inky blackness for... Days on end, he supposed. Any light seemed excruciatingly white._

 _The light seemed to grow in size. It soon encompassed his whole field of vision._

Is this it? Am I dead?

 _Noah felt a twinge of pain in his torso. Pale colors began to form at the edge of his vision._ Well, good to know I'm not dead yet...

* * *

HAHA! Gotcha! You thought this was going to be a whole chapter! Haha!

TBC...


	6. O Man of Courage

Hehe. After last chapter, you'll be wanting an explanation.

It just didn't feel right to put these into the same chapter, so I split it into mini-segments.

"Well done, young man."- Sam and Noah for best father/son.

* * *

 _Noah was at Lorali. Dreaded Lorali. He didn't know how he was here, but he was._

 _His feet were cemented to the ground. He felt like a wax statue, unable to move. And Noah was quite possibly in the worst place he could have imagined. Trapped in the old man's apartment in a staring contest with Royce._

 _Royce had the demonic expression of a man poised to kill. Still, John seemed so relaxed. So... Unconcerned. As if he had killed so many times in his life before, it just didn't phase him anymore. Forcefully removing a man from the face of the earth just wasn't a big deal._

 _Noah stared at the Taurus PT945. It was indeed a beautiful gun. And a powerful gun as well. Both usefulness and elegance in one place. Noah sighed inwardly. Too bad he was staring through the business end of it._

 _The entire apartment was frozen in time. No one moved. No one breathed. They didn't even blink._

 _The young Deputy Marshal braced himself. He knew what was coming. Time resumed in slow motion._

 _Noah heard a shot. He felt the splintering wood of the doorframe behind him. The blood suddenly ran cold in his veins. Noah felt himself fall backwards. He felt his blood turn to liquid fire as he hit the doorframe. His shirt was soaked in what he could only assume was his lifeblood. Noah's eyes closed._

Not again! Please! No! Please not again!...

Noah's eyes flew open.

"ROYCE!"

He took a breath. The room was fairly dark, the only light source at the other end of the room. He obviously wasn't at Lorali. He wasn't anywhere he knew.

His mind shifted to other places.

 _Ooh. I itch._

Noah tried to move his left arm to scratch, but something held it back. He turned his head to see why, using up a surprising amount of his energy.

His arm looked like a pincushion. Noah's eyes went wide. There were monitors stuck up and down his forearm, not to mention an IV line in the crook of his elbow.

His eyes shifted to his torso. Huge bandages covered up almost everything that his button-up shirt didn't. There was yet another tube sticking out from under the bandages. It was piping away a pale red-ish liquid that Noah could only assume was drainage. Not to mention there were another half a million monitors.

His vision was still foggy, but he made out a shape on a chair across the room. It was snoring. Only one person he knew snored like that.

Noah tried to speak. It didn't turn out too well.

"Thah... Ou..ae..k...Up..." His mouth felt like he had eaten a bag of cotton balls.

Despite being a terrible attempt to make intelligible words, the noise woke the shape on the chair.

"Huh? Oh!" The shape, now revealed to be Sam Gerard, jumped up and was by the side of the bed in an instant.

"How are you feeling, kid?"

Noah looked up at Sam. "Ou... A.. Tr..."

Sam stared at Noah in confusion at first. His gaze traveled to the glass.

"Water?"

Noah looked at Sam expectantly.

"Well, as far as I know, a little water won't hurt. I'm not going to give you too much, OK? You've been through a lot and I don't know how well your engine is working."

Noah watched as Sam dipped a clean cloth into the glass. Noah sipped the water out of the fabric.

Sam dipped the cloth in once more. It was enough to allow Noah to speak. Still, it was more in the way of a whisper.

"Thanks, Sam."

"You're welcome." Sam paused. "Hold a sec."

He was out of the room in less than a second.

In exchange, the entire rest of the team strolled inside. They were chattering the entire way.

"Hey Hey! The miracle kid lives!" Biggs gave a broad smile and a hearty laugh."

"How are you doing, Noah?" Cosmo looked genuinely concerned.

"Hi, Noah. It's good to see you awake."

Noah smiled at them. "Hi guys," he whispered. "It's good to see you, too. How did you even get in here?"

Biggs chuckled. "I'm your brother. Savannah and Cosmo are your cousins."

"Some family." Noah rolled his eyes, which took more energy than he expected. "And the hospital staff actually fell for that?"

"Hook, line, and sinker." Cosmo looked back out the doorway, seemingly nervous that someone might catch them there.

"Wow... Say, where did Sam go?"

"The doctors wanted to run some more tests on you once you were awake," Savannah explained. "I guess he figures that there's no time like the present."

Noah humphed. "Well, anyways it's nice to know you care... But how did you all get vacation?"

Before someone could answer, Sam came strolling back in, the doctor hot on his tracks.

"Hullo!" The doctor was a tall, middle aged man with brown hair and paling sideburns. "And how are you all to-day?"

Noah recoiled slightly. This fellow seemed more than a bit strange.

The doctor only smiled. "I'm Dr. Joshua McClaine. You've been assigned to my care." He paused and looked at all of the people in the room.

Cosmo awkwardly looked to the ground. He looked like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

The doctor took it in stride. "If you all don't mind, would you stop off for a few minutes in the cafeteria? I need to run a few tests on your... cousin."

The entire room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Dr. McClaine wouldn't kick them out permanently.

The rest of the team filed out. Sam stayed.

The doctor turned to Sam. "Are you his father?" He stared Sam down. "Answer truthfully. I need to know."

"No... I'm not his father."

Dr. McClaine made eye contact with Noah. "Hm... Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to kick him out. I know how much it means to have family visit."

He picked up the clipboard at the end of the hospital bed.

"You have some good friends, Noah- Is it OK if I call you Noah?"

Said person nodded slightly.

"You have really good friends. Not many people are willing to go to the lengths your friends did to find you. Not many people are willing to get into that much trouble for someone. You must all be close."

Noah replied in a scratchy voice, "We are."

The doctor scribbled something on the clipboard. "So, you can call me Josh if you want to..."

"Okay... Josh."

"Alright, I need you to do something for me. I'm just going to run a quick test, and it goes much easier if you close your eyes. You know- out of sight, out of mind."

"Ok, Josh."

Noah closed his eyes.

"You have them closed?"

"M-hmm."

Noah began to get uneasy after ten seconds of silence.

"Noah, do you know what I'm doing?"

"Ummm... I've got my eyes closed."

"Well, can you tell me exactly what I'm doing?"

"... You're... talking to me. That's it. Is there something else I should know?"

"Hmmm..." Three more seconds of silence. "OK, you can open your eyes now."

Noah opened his eyes, afraid of what he would see. The room was completely unchanged. The doctor was scribbling more notes. Noah looked at Sam.

Sam's face had turned deathly pale. Sam looked more terrified than Noah had ever seen him in his life. It made Noah uneasy.

Dr. McClaine finished writing his notes. He sat down on a stool next to the bed. "Tell me, Noah, are you ticklish?"

"Ticklish?"

"Yeah- are you ticklish?"

"You've gotta be kidding me... OK... You aren't kidding."

"For the tests I need to know if you're ticklish or not- and, if so, where."

"Yeah, I'm ticklish. Extremely so. Arms. Sides. Feet... Just about everywhere."

"I see." The doctor's face fell.

"Is that bad?"

The doctor put his head in his hands. Sam paled even more.

"Doc, I want to know... Listen, I'm a Deputy Marshal. I've seen it all. I can take it."

"Good news first, or bad news?"

Noah braced himself. "The bad news. What's going on with me, doc?"

"When you were shot, the slug that hit your abdomen caused a lot of damage. We patched you up the best we could..."

"Cut to the chase; what's up?"

"The bullet nicked the spinal cord. It wasn't severed- just... Damaged."

Noah blinked. Sam went to sit down.

"There is a slight possibility that you regain some limited movement in your legs, but with the nerve deterioration... The odds are stacked up pretty high against you. Simply put..."

Noah stared at him.

"I am so sorry, son. You're never going to walk again."

* * *

Why do I do this?

Poor guy. I just keep tormenting him.

Please review.

Please excuse grammatical errors.

All rights to respective owners.


	7. Say That Again?

Yay new chapter!

"And a double milk for this kid!"- Yeah... I think you get it.

* * *

Disabled? Permanently?

Noah looked at McClaine in shock.

"You..."

"I'm sorry. There isn't really anything that we can do."

"You..." Noah was sure the doctor could see the rising fury in his eyes.

"Look, there's still a slight possibility that some of the nerves could regenerate and you could regain some movement. Knowing your luck, it could happen."

Noah's temper exploded. "You... You... I nearly _die_ , and the first thing you tell me after I wake up is that I'll never walk again! I can't believe you!"

Sam got up and walked to the side of the bed. "Noah, calm-"

"SAM, STAY OUT OF THIS," Noah hissed. "Just shut up! Everybody, just shut up and get-" Sudden fear lit his gaze as his breath wouldn't come.

McClaine rushed back into surgeon mode. "Get a nurse... What are you waiting for!?"

Gerard was out and back with two nurses in less than three seconds.

"I think some drainage got in where it isn't supposed to. Prep him." The nurses immediately began following instructions.

"What's going on?" Sam looked at Noah. The young deputy marshal was beginning to panic and thrash against the nurses.

"Can't tell for sure yet..." McClaine watched the nurses wheel Noah out. "My best guess is... Something we patched in all of that mess busted when he got all riled up and... he's essentially drowning." Sam followed the doctor out of the room. "I need to drain the fluid out manually, and then find the leaks and put a plug on them. We need to work fast, so if you'll excuse me." He began to run down the hallway.

Cosmo, Biggs, and Savannah all came running from the direction the doctor went.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Savannah looked behind her shoulder.

"We saw Noah being wheeled off- he was putting up a fight, too."

"Something busted. They need to fix it."

"What do we do about it?"

"I don't think there's much we can do, Cosmo." They stood in silence for several seconds.

"Listen, kids, you be here for Noah when we wakes up. I've gotta go meet that newcomer."

"Sammy, he's going to want to see you."

"Just explain it. He'll understand... On second thought... I think Cosmo should come with me."

"ME? Why me?"

"Because. You've been with this team the longest and it's your turn to babysit." He walked away briskly.

"Sam!" Cosmo gave chase.

 ** _The next day in the Chicago office..._**

Sam looked around for an unfamiliar face. He silently cursed himself for not bringing the photo of the new fellow.

He knew that he had been... Ill tempered, but still. He felt rather stupid.

He made his way to his desk. There was no one waiting, so that was a plus. Cosmo was tailing him as he sat down to his desk.

"Cosmo, keep an eye out for anyone who looks new, OK?"

"What do you mean? Lots of people come and go around here." He went to the window and peered though the blinds.

"Kind of like... they look like they belong here, but you don't recognize him." He picked up Ezra's file- minus photograph.

"HOLY-"

"What is it, Cosmo?" He absentmindedly flipped though the pages.

"Sammy, you need to see this. A giant just crawled out of a cab."

"You aren't drunk, are you?"

"I swear, Sam! He's massive!"

"And you're five-feet, nine inches. Is that supposed to mean something to me?

"I'm serious! He's gotta be... six foot six!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Let me see him." He went to the window. "Woah." The giant went into the building through the double doors and out of their line of vision.

"Was I right, or was I right?"

"You were right, Cosmo. That guy is a giant." He added in a whisper, "And he's probably the replacement, too. He's certainly got the hair and the height."

"I told you so."

"You meet him at the elevator. OK?"

"ME? He probably eats people like me for lunch!"

Sam grabbed his collar and hauled him out the door. "A gross misinterpretation. He's just the replacement. Now go."

Cosmo muttered all the way to the elevator. He hummed to pass the time. Leave it to Sam to stick him with the new kid. It happened with Noah and Savannah, too. Now, Savannah wasn't per say a _new_ kid, but she was the most unfamiliar face on the team.

The doors opened, and before him stood the giant. A very _young_ giant, but a giant nonetheless.

"Hi there."

"Uhh... Hi!" Cosmo laughed nervously.

The boy grinned and let out a roar of laughter. "Yeah, I know. I'm tall."

"You most certainly are!"

They held the stare for a few seconds.

"Before the doors close, maybe you could show me to-" He looked at a piece of paper in his hands. "Sam Gerard, yeh?"

"Oh!... Right this way."

He led the kid through the maze of tables and cubicles."You're sure friendly."

"It helps with business interviews." He looked down to Cosmo with a smile. "And I'm usually amiable anyways."

Cosmo knocked on the door. "Hey, Sammy! Here he is."

Sam looked up from his newspaper. Ezra was a kid. But he was huge. Or, maybe not _huge_. Just... Tall. And skinny as skinny could be. Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out.

The kid smiled. "I get that reaction a lot."

Sam let out a sigh. "Alright. Err... Back to business. I just need some info for archiving purposes. Bureaucracy stuff."

Ezra let out a laughing breath. "Bureaucracy _sucks_ , actually. The politicians need to know exactly who to call on for their every whim, and everything about them, too."

Cosmo chuckled. "The kid's just as irreverent as we are."

"OK, joking time is over. Really. I need this stuff filled out."

The boy's face changed immediately to somber. "Yes sir."

"Full name and age."

Cosmo walked back to his desk.

"Age: 25."

Sam muttered under his breath, "Rookie kids. Never get good ones." Aloud, he said, "Name?"

The boy looked uneasy, then, "Ezra Markmaster Californius Sherringham McCouliff. Sir."

Sam's pen stopped moving. "Say that again?"

"Ezra Markmaster Californius Sherringham McCouliff."

Sam looked up. "You're kidding. Look, I'm just calling you Ezra Markmaster McCouliff, OK?"

"Could you use Californius? Fewer M's that way." Ezra gave an embarrassed grin.

"Sure." Sam finished writing in Ezra's... Monster of a name, then continued. "How long have you been with the service?"

"Sorry?"

Sam put his head in his hands. "How long have you carried your badge?"

"Six months, sir."

"You really are a rookie." He began to write. "And this is your first assignment?"

"Umm... No, sir. I went through initials with Christopher Rettaman."

"Chris Rettaman? He died, didn't he?"

Ezra's speech became uneasy. "Yes sir... He... Along with the rest of my team... Were... killed in a bomb explosion almost two months ago." Sam looked on with pity as Ezra shuffled his feet. The boy was clearly not ready to speak on that topic freely.

"So you've been a floater ever since?"

"No, sir. I worked with Nathaniel Price and his team in Indiana for two months."

"Nate Price and the Overlanders? I thought they were... Very exclusive."

"Nathaniel took over Chris's case. He decided to let me tag along."

"Most people in this office would kill for a chance with the Overlanders. You turned it down?"

"Well, there was a bit of... Trouble. I transferred out."

"You turned down a major opportunity, anyhow. But anyone who was ever with the Overlanders is probably good."

Ezra blushed. "I heard the same about your team. The MarshalsMen are popular, too. That's why I came here."

"I'm flattered."

Ezra gave a slight smile.

"And..." Sam stopped writing. "You're good to go." He stood up. "Welcome to the team."

They shook hands.

The kid turned to go. "By the way, who is it that I'm... Filling in for?"

"Noah. Noah Newman. He was a good guy. And a great Marshal."

"Well, it seems that I have some work to do." Ezra made a little hop and eagerly ran out of the room.

Sam sighed and picked up his newspaper. This new kid definitely wasn't going to be another Noah Newman.

 _Speaking of Noah... I need to call Biggs._ He reached for the phone.

* * *

Yes. I know. It was an awful chapter. I need to get back in the groove.


	8. Pranks and Panels and Sheep

Hi.

I'll make this quick. School isn't easy. Please bear with me as I adjust.

What can I say? Mr. Copeland was a bad man. He was going to kill one of my kids... Well you can blame me, sir. I'm the one that shot 'im.- Yep. Sam Gerard does care.

I think he likes you.- T today for mentions of drug use and things.

* * *

Ezra McCouliff peered warily around the corner into the cubicle assigned him. No fake cobwebs. No buckets. Not even a tripwire. He made a sigh of relief. Nothing to worry about.

"Hey, kid."

He looked across the way to see the fellow that had shown him to Gerard's office. "Huh?"

"Hehe. Worried we rigged your cubicle?"

"Ummm... OK. I'm not going to be ashamed to say it. Yes. First day with the Chris and the Suburbanites, they rigged my first file to go up in flames when I touched it. I'm still a bit wary."

The man chuckled. "Haha! Rightly so. My first day on the job, they soaked me with a water bucket. Ah, those were the good old days." He extended his hand. "By the way, I'm Cosmo. We're cube-mates."

Ezra shook Cosmo's hand. "Ezra. But you probably knew that already, didn't you?" He smiled.

Cosmo chuckled and sat down at his chair.

Ezra gave a laugh. It had been a long day, and he had been on his feet for most of it. He plopped down on his chair- a little too hard, he assumed. The tin on the back of his chair impacted his head with a loud, _SPLOORT!_

"OI!" He continued shouting, in Swedish, no less, as he leaped up from his chair. "Dumma spratt! Det var vispad grädde !"

Cosmo turned his chair around burst into a maniacal fit of laughter at seeing the back of Ezra's head plastered with whipped cream.

Ezra whirled around in fury to see the man nearly doubled over in his merriment.

Cosmo continued to laugh. "Gotcha!"

"Whipped cream? Really? Now I gotta clean all of this off!"

"Heh. Gotcha."

Ezra promptly swept his hand over his head, wiping most of the froth away. "Yuck!" He tore the tape off of the chair, then tossed both the tape and the pan of cream into the trash bin.

Cosmo laughed. "It's tradition. That whole thing was Noah's idea, actually." He burst into fits of laughter between talking. "Biggs pranked Savannah with salt in the sugar packets, but Noah got to choose the next prank on the new guy... When he was new, I set fire to his pants, but he didn't want to repeat that one. So you got whipped cream. I guess he didn't count on you having almost as much hair as he has."

Ezra slipped a comb out of his pocket and began to scrape the foam out of his thick blonde hair. "Nasty. And a waste of perfectly good cream, too." He sat down.

"Have fun."

"Thanks." He rolled his eyes.

As Ezra combed the whipped cream out of his hair, he looked around the cubicle. It was fairly simple- just a desk, a computer, a few photos, and a couple knickknacks. He wiped the comb on a tissue, then slipped it back into his pocket. He took a closer look at some of the photos.

He picked up one of the framed pictures. It was a man with long curly hair, smiling brightly in a sideways glance at the camera. "Hey Cosmo," Ezra began.

"Yeah? You need help with the computer?" Cosmo stood up. "I never understood Noah's obsession with making his computer so hard to-" He stopped when he saw the new kid holding Noah's picture. He blinked.

Ezra looked up at Cosmo over his shoulder. "Is this Noah?"

Cosmo nodded soberly, all traces of the laughter from a few minutes ago vanished.

"You- err... You don't usually get to see a picture of the person you're replacing. I never got to see Joe Cresham, though I know he meant a lot to the Suburbanites." I... I guess you didn't really get a chance to... take all this stuff... but could I have some of it?"

"That stuff is Noah's. He's going to want it back."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean-" Cosmo swiped the picture and set it back down on the desk. "Noah isn't dead. And if I know him, he doesn't have an intention of being so any time soon."

 ** _Twelve hours later..._**

Noah looked up. He was counting how many rectangles were in the pop-ceiling. He knew it was going to be forty, just like it was all of the other one hundred and twenty- seven times he'd counted. He was so bored, it really didn't matter to him if Biggs and Savannah were there to pester him or not. He would like to have at least _some_ company. If it were doctors or nurses- he honestly didn't care. Sure, he was supposed to be sleeping at Nine O'clock at night, but he really couldn't.

Of course, if anyone thought it was just the boredom, they had something else coming. He had turned his morphine counter down a few hours earlier. He had been adjusting it down gradually, and now it was almost completely off. Yes, it did hurt. Most people would think he was insane. But he knew what drugs could do to a person. His foster brother Cole had been on heroin and cocaine, among other things, for almost fifteen years until, and probably continuing throughout, his arrest and imprisonment. Cole had almost convinced Noah in favor of substance abuse. Needless to say, Noah was rather cautious when it came to addictive substances.

He began counting the ceiling panels again. Just like all of the other one hundred and twenty- eight times he counted. Noah sighed. He was bedridden, bored, and most likely permanently disabled when all he wanted to do more than anything was jump and run. Run away from all of this. But his legs wouldn't move. The muscles wouldn't heed. All because of one bullet. Noah was beginning to wonder if Royce hadn't meant to kill him, but force him to live half a life. Half a life from the waist up. Sure, he could learn to do things with his lower half out of commission. There were obviously programs for the disabled to participate in sports and things. Still, knowing that he would never run or walk or stand on his own again seemed even a tad bit more than daunting.

Another set of forty panels. Another minute. Another second. Another moment that he wasn't sleeping. He sighed.

What would Sam say? _If your thoughts aren't sleeping, think sleepy thoughts!_ Noah smiled. Sam had a quip for everything. No matter the situation, Sam always had two bits to put in. Yes, sometimes he'd go all off on his tangents, but that was just a part of the quipping. You couldn't stop it. It was like... having a sundae without chocolate syrup. It just wasn't done. Every sundae had chocolate syrup, and you couldn't get out of Sam's tangents unless you wanted him humorless. And no one wanted Sam Gerard humorless. Ever.

Noah imagined jumping sheep, complete with a little brown fence. He began to count those instead of the forty ceiling panels. After six thousand sheep, he decided that _jumping_ sheep weren't the best thing for him to thing about. He re-imagined it, with him sitting down on a grassy field counting sheep as they contentedly grazed on the lush, green grass. He imagined counting them and naming them as they casually walked past. He ran out of wakefulness before he ran out of names.

* * *

Hehe... An interesting one, yes.

And yes, I did look up the Swedish words.


	9. Bad? Worse? Worst?

Hi. Yeah. It's been a long time. I know. You're all feeling dejected.

Here we go.

"Find out his name, his age, his weight, his social security number, relatives, pets, everything."- Sam/Noah= father/son

* * *

Noah looked at the ceiling panels. Forty panels. Always forty.

"It's never thirty nine! It's never forty one! Why does it always have to be forty?!" He continued shouting to no one in particular for several seconds more. He sighed. He squirmed as pain shot through his torso. Stupid morphine counter. And why morphine? Why not something that wasn't addictive? Not that there were many options; the injuries were too severe to manage with non-opiates.

He sighed again. There were still huge bandages on his chest. There was still an IV line stuck in his arm, not to mention seven monitors. Honestly, why did they need so many of those little sticky things anyhow? They ought to find a way to do it just with two or three. There was still a little clear line poking through the bandages to take drainage away. Same old. Same old. Nothing new _ever_.

Noah blinked to clear his head. He put his hand up to his forehead. Strike that- there was _something_ new. A fever. He had somehow ended up with an infection in the wound- massive as it was, he really couldn't see any way of avoiding it. Dr. McClaine had him on antibiotics, among other things, and Noah wasn't exceedingly worried. He'd survived the initial shooting, after all.

Speaking of which... What had happened to Royce? Presumably he had been caught. Still, with Sam you never knew. Both of them had a nasty habit of shooting people. In the fish tank or six feet under; either way, Noah reasoned, Royce was out of their way.

He looked around. He hated when he stopped thinking. When he stopped thinking, he didn't have anything else to think about. And that meant boredom. Lots and lots of boredom. He had been used to boredom in the Marshal's office. After all, it isn't every day that a federal prisoner escapes. But not being able to move your legs at all- and not because of a restraint- really got old. He supposed it was a different kind of boredom altogether.

A thought popped into his mind. _Trisha_. What was he going to do about that situation? She was his girlfriend for... Over five years now. Ever since the Kimble case. Actually, she _was_ a Kimble, but nonetheless.

He'd known at the time that it wasn't good to be dating a suspect, but in Trisha's case, there really wasn't any avoiding it. The girl had spunk. She wasn't afraid to fight him if she thought he was wrong. And if she realized he was right, then she would be equally as eager to accept it. He liked that about her. He loved that about her. Far too much for her inner and outer beauty to be spoiled by the likes of Randall or Ralph or whatever his name was- he didn't bother to remember that joker's name.

He supposed that most people would call it chivalrous, or even old fashioned, but if it was, then chivalry was good. Chivalry was a nice way to let someone know that you were not only a gentleman, but also that you bothered to care.

Noah did care. He cared a lot. If he could spare someone from an unknown fate, then he'd do it.

He sighed. Maybe that was his flaw, too. He cared a bit too much. He always cared too much.

He stared up at the ceiling. With the forty panels. He sighed again. Brother, did this get old _fast_.

Noah glanced at his belongings. What was left of them, anyhow. Cooper had dropped them off earlier, rather unceremoniously, might he add, in a cardboard box. Just his badge, his notebook, his pants, and his belt. No shirt, and they took his handcuffs, too. What could he say? He really liked that shirt he had been wearing at Lorali. And it had ended up as sliced-up shreds in the biohazard dump, soaked in blood. It wasn't as if he would have traded his life for that thing, but still. It was a really nice shirt.

Noah looked up at the ceiling. He shifted his shoulders, and it reminded him exactly how much he hated the bandages. They were annoying. It wasn't just that it hurt, either. It itched really, really bad. Worse than insect bites- even worse than the cast he had worn as a fifth-grader when he broke his leg. There was also some sort of yellowish fluid that had coagulated at the edges, making it feel prickly when he moved.

He smiled at the nurses as they slowly filed into the room. He took a glance at the clock. He already knew that it was fifteen 'til three. They always changed his bandages at fifteen 'til three. And he hated it. Every time they had to strap him down and hold his arms so he wouldn't hurt himself. It wasn't as if he had a personal vendetta against the nurses- it just hurt. Five minutes of pure misery three times every single day.

Of course, he didn't know if it was as bad as the time he earned his stripes, or if it was worse. This was more painful, but it was over quickly. That lasted for hours on end. He still remembered the time he had earned his stripes. How could he forget- he still had the scars on his wrists. The very wrists that the nurses were now grasping and holding to the bedspread.

One of them closed the curtain to his room. He sighed, then nodded for the nurses to continue with their duties.

 _ **Meanwhile, in Chicago...**_

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. This," Sam Greard produced a picture from a file "Is our fugitive. His name is Daniel Walker, loose somewhere in Illinois, wanted for a list of offenses as long as the elevator cables... including first degree murder, murder of federal agents, assault, extortion, and a whole list of other things I haven't the patience to name. We are working _with_ the Overlanders to catch this man. They have been tracking him for nearly five months now, which gives them seniority on the case. They will be an authority in all of these matters- if you're talking to them, you're talking to me- Got it?"

The entire room gave a collective nod.

Biggs raised his hand to speak.

Sam pointed to him. "Yeah?"

"Exactly who, in the way of federal agents, did he kill?"

"Christopher Rettaman, as well as the rest of the Suburbanites, in a bomb explosion. They were chasing an arsonist, but they had actually stumbled upon a rather large part of Walker's network. They didn't expect anything."

Ezra looked down, regretful, and Sam patted him on the head.

"The Overlanders took up both cases, since they were both dealing with Walker. They've been chasing him ever since."

Sam paused to see if any one else had questions. When there were none, he continued.

"Alright, let's go get 'im!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than the whole room was abuzz. They soon vacated.

Ezra was still sitting in his chair, staring ruefully at the floor.

Sam put his hand on Ezra's shoulder. Ezra shuddered violently at his touch. Sam looked on in pity. "You OK, kid?"

Ezra gave a short sniff, then looked up at Sam. Red tear stains trailed down his cheeks. He looked down again. He gave a nearly inaudible mumble/whisper that Sam didn't quite catch.

"Say what?"

"I said, 'I should be with them'." He said, still barely audible. "I should be a name on that file." He looked up at Sam. Tears now flowed freely down his cheeks. "You have no idea how close I came to being just a name on his criminal record." He looked down again.

Sam gripped his shoulders and forced him to make eye contact. "Listen, kid. We need you _here_. Right here, right now. We're a team. You can't check out on us." Sam paused. "Were you in the military, kid?"

Ezra steeled his jaw. "Yes, sir. United States Army."

"Then you know that you can't let you buddies hang in the air. You have their backs. And they have your back, too. Don't you remember that, kid?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Now," Sam sat on the table. "What happened back there? When Chris died?"

Ezra's icy blue eyes lowered in shame. "I didn't have their backs."

"I don't believe that."

"I was stuck in Command when everyone else went into that cursed warehouse!" His breath caught. "Chris was worried about me. I had shown a lot of promise in initials, and he didn't want to endanger me if things went south. He stuck me in Command instead of on the field making an arrest... I was so upset... I wanted to be with my team." He slammed his fist down on the table. "I should have been with them! I should have seen the bomb! I should never have let them go into that warehouse in the first place!" He put his head in his hands.

"You can't blame yourself for every 'should have, could have, didn't'. It was just how things went."

Ezra's lithe frame trembled.

"Listen, just take it easy for a few minutes. You can stay in here and sort yourself out, and come out afterwards. It'll be fine."

"I want to catch him, Sam. I want to catch him so bad. I want to make him pay for what he did to my team." Ezra cursed under his breath as he shook.

Sam patted him on the shoulder and stood up."We all do, son." He strode to the double doors. "We all do."

Cosmo was waiting outside.

"What was that all about, Sammy? The whole office thinks Ezra is nuts!"

Sam looked over his shoulder. "Ezra's just suffering from a nice little case of survivor's guilt. He'll pull through, I'm pretty sure."

"Well, I've got two pieces of news you don't wanna hear."

"Alright, spit it out."

"Savannah called. Noah doesn't want Trisha to know he's alive."

"What?! Why not?"

"I don't know, and neither does Savannah. Speculation?"

"Sure."

"Noah's depressed. He faces never walking again, and he doesn't think he's worthy of her anymore."

Sam gave an offhand profanity. "Hm. Well, what's the other piece of bad tidings?"

"Trisha is coming here... with Dana. Trisha sounded pretty worried, too. Said that Noah hadn't called her. Remember, she barely even knows about the Sheridan case. She only knows what he told her; And that's precious little because he never wanted to worry her, if you remember."

Sam let out a string of curses, rather loudly as well. A visit from Trisha was truly and undeniably the worst thing that could happen in the current situation.

* * *

And we have a cliffhanger for the next chapter!

 **!ADVERTISING PLOY AHEAD!**

So, yes, guilty as charged. BlueEyedAuthor and I have been plotting to bring our two AUs together for quite some time now. You can continue reading just my story, or you could go check out **_The Other Kimble_** too (HINT HINT!).

And this story might take the back burner for a little while, because all of my Treklockians from the Shire are feeling rather dejected.

Please review.

Please excuse errors.

All rights to respective owners.


	10. Stains

Wow... It's been awhile. I'm so sorry about that- things got really hectic.

I have a chapter here, but unfortunately, this particular story had had a bad case of Writer's Block going on.

I am also involved in an RP, which might have been a huge mistake, because it takes my time away from fanfiction.

"Don't ever mess with the Big Dog, 'cause the Big Dog is always _right_!"

* * *

"Sam, where is Noah?" Trisha had begun speaking just as soon as the elevator doors opened, and she had stormed out.

"Trisha! Wait a second, will you?" Sam called over the cubicles. "We are right in the midst of an investigation!"

Dana followed Trisha out of the elevator, and shouted for Sam to answer Trisha's question. In so many words.

Ezra edged across the cubicle to Cosmo. "What's up with that? Who are those two?"

Cosmo shook his head, and stood up. "Trisha- the brunette- is Noah's girlfriend. Dana- the redhead- is her best friend. They're a literal Pinky and the Brain." He shook his head. "Trisha is the Brain."

"Pinky and the Brain? I don't think I follow."

Cosmo stared at Ezra. "Animated TV series. Two genetically altered mice, trying to allegedly take over the world."

The two watched as Trisha strode over to Sam.

"Answer my question! Where is Noah?!"

The senior deputy marshal simply shook his head. "Trisha, there was an... Incident."

"What kind of incident, Sam?" Trisha bit her lip as he still said nothing. "Sam, tell me! Where is Noah?!"

Cosmo watched as Sam put on quite the incredible act- the marshal looked genuinely as if he were going to cry.

Finally, Sam spoke again. "Trisha, I'm so sorry. Noah didn't make it out of New York City."

Trisha simply stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open.

Cosmo blinked. Well, it wasn't entirely untrue- Noah WAS still in New York... But it just didn't feel right, the way he was saying it.

Trisha sat down on a nearby bench, and shudders wreaked her entire body. After several moments, she managed a whisper. "How... How did he-"

Sam sighed, and sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders, and holding her closely, like a father. "John Royce. Bad cop. He was trying to kill an innocent man, but Noah stopped him."

Trisha seemed almost completely stunned. "Noah... He footed the bill, instead. This... This John Royce. He killed Noah. When he... Did Noah suffer much?"

Sam sighed again. "I'd like to think not."

"What did Royce do to him?"

Sam hesitated, before Dana crossed her arms and looked on threateningly at him. "Two .45 cals, one in the torso, one in the shoulder."

Trisha looked down at the floor, and she continued to shudder.

Sam stood up, and helped her to do so. "Do you want to go somewhere more private?"

Trisha nodded slightly, and Sam helped her into the conference room.

Cosmo shook his head, and returned to his desk.

Ezra planted his hands down right on the file on Cosmo's desk.

"What is going on?" He whisper-hissed. "I thought you said that Noah Newman wasn't killed."

Cosmo sighed, and put his head in his hands. "He wasn't. But he doesn't want Trisha to know that he's alive."

Ezra looked up towards the conference room in disbelief. Still in his whisper-hiss, he exclaimed, "Does he he have any idea at ALL what that will DO to her?!"

Cosmo brushed Ezra's hands aside, and began working again. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't."

Ezra's brow furrowed, and he walked towards the redhead. "Dana, was it?"

"Yes, Dana. But I don't know you. What do you want?"

"Uh... I'm Deputy Marshal McCouliff. I... Ummm... I was just wondering... What can you tell me about Noah Newman?"

Dana stared at him halfway through her eyebrows for a few moments, before giving a slight sigh. "Noah was... He meant a lot to Trisha. He- he proposed to her the night before the last case! I can't believe he's dead." She looked up at him. "They knew each other for five years. They admitted that they were dating... Maybe a year ago?"

Ezra shook his head. "Shame what happened. He sounds like he was a good man. Lots of friends here. Good at his job. And engaged... A real shame."

Dana sighed. "Kid, you don't know the half of it."

It was Ezra's turn to look through his eyebrows. _Kid_?

"Well," Ezra said after a few moments, "I suppose that I had best get back to work."

 _ **Meanwhile...**_

In all of the time that Samuel Gerard had known Trisha Kimble, he had to admit- he had never seen her cry. Genuinely cry. And yet, here they both were, him simply holding her, and rubbing her back while she made a small salty puddle on his shoulder. It wasn't exactly his forte to be... emotional. Sure, there had been instances where he had to console people who had lost others (mostly like the situation now), but since _they_ were actually marshals, he could basically give them his signature Suck-It-Up Sympathy. It wasn't pretty, but pretty wasn't quite as much a concern.

He barely registered a, "I can't believe he's gone.", and his own response, "I know, I know. Nobody ever can."

In their profession, danger and inconsistency was the only consistency. That was a fact of the life they led, that at any given moment, _Atropos_ could change her mind- very, very quickly.

Perhaps that was the irony in it all. That you were so needed and yet also so expendable. There would be a funeral, condolences, your picture would be added to the Wall of the Lost, you would be remembered by all of your teammates for as long as they lived, but the hurt would fade, the cleaning service would wash away all the stains, and work and the world would pretty much keep going- without you.

But Noah was one of the lucky ones. The survivor. The miracle. He could watch the world keep going... when it believed him to be no longer a part of it. Not everyone got the luxury of doing that. In fact, most didn't.

The painful realization of expendability... and there was still a strange, perverted sense of... Okay-ness, if you could call it that. For those like Sam Gerard who had come to terms with the fact that they were expendable to the world. That was a scary thought, and it was best if you didn't dwell on thoughts like that for too long.

Sam Gerard sighed and set his chin lightly on Trisha's head as she continued to sob.

 _ **Sometime later...**_

Noah looked briefly around the room, and took a heavy, shaking breath. Savannah had lit into him when he had told her about not telling Trisha he was alive. He had never been yelled at so hard in his life. Not by Cosmo, not even by Sam. Because Savannah... well, she was not in favor of his decision.

But it was for the best, Noah continued to reassure himself. It was. He knew that it was.

Trisha was young and she was strong, and she didn't deserve to be held to him. She was... well, to be quite frank, she was too good for him.

Trisha could- she _would_ recover. She would learn to love again, and eventually, she might even forget. She would find a good husband, and have children- something that the doctor McClaine told him he would never be able to give. She would be happy. Much happier than if she stayed with him.

He was a _deputy marshal_ , after all. He was used to the loss. He was accustomed to it. Calloused. He could deal with the loss, and the pain, and eventually, he might find happiness someplace, too. Someplace.

Was. Was a deputy marshal. He supposed that it wasn't really very practical to continue trying to fool himself.

Noah sighed. He had heard of stories about those few who were injured, and never made it back to the office.

Unfortunately, and this was one of the beauties of the Life of a LEO, those disabled faced retirement. An early retirement, no matter how appealing it might seem at first, was not what he was looking for. After staying in the hospital for so long, there was nothing more that he wanted to do than get back to his job. And not simply a desk job. He didn't want to be stuck at the office while the rest of his team went out to catch the bad guys. He'd had enough of that... Still, it didn't seem as though he had much of a choice.

Noah looked to the side, out the window.

John Royce. That was who he could blame for this. All of his pain, his suffering, his misery.

John Royce. The dirty cop. The spy. The traitor.

Noah sighed heavily. Savannah had told him that Sam had shot Royce when the DSS agent attempted to kill Sheridan for the second time. Single gunshot wound to the chest. Simple. Effective. Just Sam's style.

Still, Noah couldn't help but think that there was a conflict to all of this. Sykes, the dirty security officer... Kimble, the innocent man. John Royce the dirty cop... Sheridan, the vindicated one. What ever happened to catching actual bad guys?

But the bad guys always seemed closer that you knew.

Noah shuddered. He could still almost see those uncaring, empty eyes staring back at him. So quick to act- so quick to judge...The barrel of the gun. One flash...Two. Pain. Lots of pain... Just thinking about it made his shoulder begin hurting again.

Maybe that was what made him feel so... Betrayed.

He had walked in... Royce had taken one look at him, and that was the end of it. No discussion. No bargaining. No pleading like there was in the movies.

The lack of humanness in Royce...Just shoot a man in cold blood. No matter. Close your eyes to their pain and despair as they look up and silently ask you, _why?._ Disregard their screams, whether audible or not...Detach yourself from their condition. Their fear. Their mortality.

Don't worry about the warm crimson pool that spreads across the floor. Someone _else_ will scrub away the stains.

* * *

I won't say that this is a start of a new trend of posting on this story, because this literally took months to write. But, I hope that it gives you a bit of insight on how Noah feels about Royce, and about his situation in general.

And, yes, I am fully aware that this is genuine angst.

P.s. Since the last chapter got posted, I have become an Avengers fan. But I somehow still cannot see Iron Man as anyone else but John Royce. *cue sad face*

Please excuse errors.

Please review.

All rights to respective owners.


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